Make Me Believe
by Nae'ka
Summary: "He's ignoring you again."   Dylan chuckled darkly and shook his head, "Go drink clamato, vamp. I don't need this right now."


It didn't matter to him what people called him, as long as it had nothing to do with pock-marks, acne or any of the various scars that came from his body.

"Look kid, he's obviously moved on. Maybe you should too."

At least he _thought_ that it didn't matter to him… "Kid?" He repeated, shaking his head only slightly.

Stan Marsh's friend, the red-headed ass-wipe he had met in Village Inn so many years ago, only smirked back at him. "Time to get over it. Find someone new…" He turned and started walking towards the school. The bell for the start of class had rung at least four minutes ago. "If that's possible."

The Red Goth found himself alone in the school yard, breath growing visibly stronger in the freezing air.

Was it possible to move on? After all, he and the Curly Goth had been… 'more than friends' for a few months before the big fight.

Suddenly the temperature hit and his entire body trembled. "F-fuck…" He couldn't go back to the school, no. He'd have to face Stan in their art class… an entire hour and a half staring into the eyes of the asshole that shattered all of Dylan's dreams. The Goth swallowed the lump in his throat and walked, slowly, over to the nearest building a few blocks away.

It was lucky for him that the art museum was never closed because of the cold and its admission was always free. Had they charged even the smallest amount, he was positive that even schools wouldn't bring anyone.

The second he walked in, he was greeted by a young, blond woman with a great big fake smile. He said nothing to her as he walked towards the first hall.

'The Medieval Era' was scrawled out on a big yellow board, indicating the first section had begun.

XxxxxX

_"He's ignoring you again."_

Dylan chuckled darkly and shook his head, "Go drink clamato, vamp-fag. I don't need this right now."

"… He doesn't deserve you."

The Goth swung his gym locker open with such force, it had nearly closed again. "There's nothing to deserve." He mumbled.

Mike sighed and shoved his hands in the pockets sewn onto his jacket, "You don't give yourself enough credit." He watched as the other pulled his gym clothes out of his locker and lazily thrust them into his messenger bag. "You're not as bad of a person as you think you are, Dyl."

"Don't call me that!" Red Goth snapped, "You have no right!" He turned to the 'vampire', eyes on fire. He couldn't stop the sneer that had come to adorn his face, one of his eyes covered by his black and red hair.

"Ok then, I won't." Mike tried to smile, "What can I call you?"

"You can't." 

XxxxxX

Dylan decided he wasn't fond of all the heavily detailed representation of Catholic beliefs and war scenes… Something about it just didn't sit well with him. Like the artist was trying to force him how to think, telling him exactly as it should be seen and interpreted.

He didn't notice when the woman in the greeting area started to speak again, this time in a lower, more strained voice.

Walking to the next hall, he briefly glanced at the next sign.

'Asian Cultures'

XxxxxX

_"Don't let me down this time." The Curly Goth's glare bore through his eyes straight to his chest._

"I-I won't." Dylan looked down to his hands, as he picked at the flaking black polish. "I know how to do this, I won't forget." He mumbled, hoping his 'lover' would just take it and leave it.

He wasn't so lucky. "I mean it, Dyl! Don't fuck me on this again! This… is important!"

The words shot through the young boy's heart like a bullet. He took a big breath and whispered, "I know it is…" He let his hair cover both of his eyes as a long pause came between them. Maybe he'd remember this time if he carved it into his skin. Maybe he'd have to write it a thousand times over on the walls and floor and ceiling of his room. Maybe…

Dylan's thoughts were interrupted by cold fingers on the back of his neck. They pulled him closer to Evan.

Looking up, he received a kiss on the forehead. "Just remember this time."

XxxxxX

He decided to skip the 'Asian' section all together. It's too general, too broad of a word. One single hall couldn't sum up 'Asian' if it was packed to the top.

When he finally got out of the hall (having walked the entirety of it with his eyes to the ground), he had reached the entrance once more. He refused to look over at the Barbie-lady, instead opting to walk into another hall.

Again, he didn't notice as voices spoke behind him or when quiet, but sharp, footsteps began to follow behind a few paces behind.

'Ancient Greece'

xxx

_Dylan sat on his bed, body shaking with terror. He had shown up too late. How did that HAPPEN? He had remembered and everything!_

Curly wasn't the type to hit him, throw things, kick, scratch, bite, stab or any other horrible physical pain causer… But his voice. When he was angry, Red was positive that even Satan would tremble at that voice.

No, it was never any physical pain…. But he was almost sure that he would have preferred that over this…. This fear. The nerves had him sick to his stomach…

Xxx

The ancient Greeks knew how to do art. The semi-abstractness of it, yet all the detail and work. Their vases told stories, but were really up for anyone's translation and it all kept in a general sort of style. You can _tell_ that it's from Greece…

"Hey."


End file.
